


Midnight

by Aria_Masterson1153



Series: Midnight [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE CHUKIFIN SHIP, Alternating Narrative, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Break Up, SPOILERY MORE COMPREHENSIVE TAGS IN ENDNOTES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15720897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Masterson1153/pseuds/Aria_Masterson1153
Summary: “Hey, I’m um, in love with you, y’know,” Matt’s words are stilted, the unfamiliar phrase lagging on his lips. Yet his eyes are deep with emotion, the same way they’ve always been. The unchanging devotion present that spoke of his love far before he ever had the words to voice it.Noah’s stunned into silence, his mind racing. To be loved by someone he fuckingcherishesis an exhilarating feeling, and he savours it. Here, in their little corner of the universe, he’sloved.





	Midnight

**Author's Note:**

>   
> **SPOILERY, BUT MORE COMPREHENSIVE WARNINGS ARE AT THE END IF YOU NEED THEM!!**  
>   
>  Also this ship's name is now Chukifin, what's up lol.  
> 

_They say we’re nothing but a heartbeat,_

_But I can tell that when our eyes meet,_

_We can go on forever._

**―Midnight** **, Lewis Watson**

 

**\---**

When Noah solicitously walks into the empty locker room; he inhales, the strangely familiar smell of home in a new place altogether. And it’s as jarring as it should be; this new home that he never asked for. As a top prospect he thought he was safe. How naïve he was. How naïve and trusting Noah had always been with the Canes organization, and with _him_.

Noah trusted; trusted so comprehensively in such an innocuous way that it was nearly too easy for it to be thrown back in his face. And it was.

Always thrown back in his face.

Walking towards his new stall, he can still smell the adhesive used to mount the name plaque above his stall. Glancing over it doesn’t do much to ease the foreboding sensation weaseling through the calm façade he’s worn since the news. He’s so practiced in his falseness that the façade barely drops when he regards the contents in the overhead locker of his stall.

Because there, in his locker, is a dahlia; such a deep red that it nearly looks black in the shadow of his stall.

And he stares at it, until it becomes more than a figment of his own imagination. He wants to reach out and gently finger the delicately smooth petals, until he can’t physically stand the smell any longer. What he does do is stare, imagining the deep red darken, and wither away at the structure of the flower from within, until the remnants resemble the mutilated cavity where his love once occupied.

 

\---

 

Heartbreaker Tkachuk.

That’s what they call him; the Heartbreaker. And Noah can readily envision it, striking in the way he talks to others, and the attention he commands of guys that are his seniors. Matt has a way of ruthlessly ensnaring a person’s thoughts; Noah isn’t stupid enough to deny that Matt hasn’t stolen his at times too.

But Noah’s the cool defenceman; the easy-going teammate who appears unaffected by everything. But Matt seems to have an answer for that as well. He knows it too, with the small, confident smiles quirking his mouth when Noah’s glances morph into full-out gawks.

 

\---

 

Noah discovers he’s being traded to Calgary within the first five minutes of Jurassic world; a movie he has yet to finish.

And him missing the rest of the movie is unrelated to the length of the phone call with his agent. That only takes approximately fifteen minutes. It’s the aftermath of the call that is lengthy and arduous.

Because for all he spends fifteen minutes falsifying his excitement to play in Calgary; Calgary also means _him_. It’s only fitting that when he hangs up with his agent, he spends the next hour crumpled against the narrow stall in the washroom, his sobs voicing his grief that has escaped his once impenetrable dam of emotions.

 

\---

 

Matt’s arms are tanned as he reaches down to tie his skates, which is another plus of playing summer tournaments with the NTDP. Catching the way Noah’s stare lingers, like it always seems to do these days, Matt grins. He’s caught Noah, again, but surprisingly he isn’t flush with pride at the knowledge. Instead, it’s a muted, soft acknowledgement that handily seals Noah’s fate.

“You ready?” Matt questions, tilting his head up at Noah.

“Yeah, of course,” Noah responds with conviction, but there’s a little niggling in his mind that betrays his confidence.

Of course Matt picks up on it, because the guy misses nothing. It’s as if he’s on the ice, his eyes and ears constantly open and tracking, watching for opportunities on the play. He leans closer, and Noah can smell the shitty Axe body wash that Aus gifted to his buddies, because he’s a dumbass and bought ten of them as a result of a _sale_.

“We’re gonna be so fucking good, I swear,” Matt whispers, a private promise between the two of them.

“You’re gonna be good,” Noah whispers back shyly, because even now, there’s whispers of Matt among scouts, at how the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in regards to the Tkachuk legacy.

But Noah? He’s a nobody from Boston trying to prove that he’s worthy to be recognized as a top prospect going into the draft.

“ _Ace_ ,” Matt murmurs sternly, waiting until Noah raises his eyes to continue his statement. “We’re gonna win this game, and I’m going to set you up for a beautiful clapper to do it, okay?”

Matt’s hand comes to rest on Noah’s shoulder, covered only by his underarmour, and Noah’s breath catches on an inhale. Matt’s hand lingers, smoothing over the anxiety until there’s nothing left except the warmth of his gentle fingers.  

Noah exhales slowly, the anxiety expelling from his body in uneven bursts. “Okay.”

 

\---

 

Noah’s first practice as a Flame can only be described in one word: disaster.

His eyes spend more time directed at the ice in front of him rather than the chaotic organization of the play brought upon by Coach Peters. His eyes avoid the left wing like it’s their only purpose, and as a result his passes come short, Noah’s reflexes not at all sharp from his position on the blue line.

They’re practicing set plays for the PP. And he isn’t naïve; he knows that they’re expecting the offensive edge to come from him as it once did from Dougie. The only thing that separates the two of them is his unfortunate history with the winger that plants himself in front of the net and makes his yells for the puck known, cutting with vicious efficiency across the hollow amplification of the empty arena.

“It’s only your first practice, you’ll adjust, don’t worry,” Coach reassures him after another failed play, clapping him on the shoulder as Noah glides past him with averted eyes.

Yet it’s all he seems to do these days. Worry. He nods senselessly and skates towards the bench for a drink of water.

“You need to use me out there. I’m open, every time,” is the quiet voice Noah hears over his shoulder. _His_ voice. Fuck, he’s not ready for this. He’s fully intent on ignoring him, until Matt sighs frustratedly. “Noah _. Ace_. C’mon.”

Noah spins around so quickly his head swims with the force of it. “Don’t fucking call me that; don’t you _dare_ ,” his words are vicious, lethal, and Matt’s eyes widen as if he didn’t somehow predict Noah’s reaction.

“I’m sorry,” is Matt’s immediate response, the words as empty as when he last said them.

It doesn’t escape Noah that this is the first time they’ve spoken in person, since, well. The last time they saw each other. It sounds similar to the last time as well. And recalling his previous exit, Noah retreats away from Matt’s empty words with a nasty scoff.

 

\---

 

It’s no surprise that Noah’s family is absolutely infatuated with Matt. Especially because of the bouquet of daisies he gifts to  Noah’s mother, and the sturdy handshake he shares with Noah’s father. It’s good, so fucking good that Noah can’t help but smile so wide his face hurts, filled with so much love that he didn’t think it were possible.

It’s also the first time he’s ever seen Matt truly nervous, and it’s more endearing than he can ever put into words. He loves Matthew. Matthew loves him. His parents love Matt. Everything is overwhelmingly perfect in his life that Noah can’t help but feel blessed by some obscure deity.

And if Matthew hasn’t formally introduced Noah to his family yet, that’s okay too. Because not everyone has parents as accepting as Noah’s, and he understands that.

 

\---

 

There’s another fucking dahlia in his locker, hidden away from the knowing eyes of his new teammates. Still, Noah can smell it through the funk of the locker room, the beautifully soft floral aroma teasing his senses, tickling his nose and watering his eyes.

He thinks he’s beginning to go crazy. He _hopes_ he’s going crazy.

Because this time, the note is accompanied by a small piece of paper, folded into the full blossom of the dahlia’s petals.

_Ace, we need to talk._

It’s unsigned, but there’s no reason for it to be. He’d know the penmanship anywhere; the same, lopsided scrawl that illustrated how much Matt loved him on Anniversary cards, and the same bolded letters that Noah tirelessly practiced with him until he was satisfied with his merchandise signature.

Noah’s never been one for the dramatics, so he calmly crosses the room with the crumpled note and the flattened dahlia in the meat of his palm, disposing of them in a trash can in the corner of the locker room. When he glances up, none of the few early birds have looked up from their rituals.

His heart is jackhammering, but it’s nearly too easy to physically repress the panic in his features, smoothing it over with the practiced blankness that initially ceased the worried looks directed at him from his parents, teammates, and friends.

Noah is cool, detached. He won’t let Matt win, especially when he’s not here to gloat in victory. He drops into his bench with a forced smoothness. He won’t show any weakness, not now, when he’s been doing so well.

He tries to ignore the way his hands shake as he begins to tape his stick.

 

\---

 

The tape-to-tape pass is beautiful, rocketing to his stick with an accuracy that is startling, but shouldn’t be, considering it comes from Matthew. Quickly surveying his options leaves him with nothing, watching Matt creep towards the net behind the Canadian defenders. When he’s set in front of the goalie, he quickly taps his stick off the ice in between the fight for his position at the front of the net.

A target.

A second is all he needs to tee up his slapshot.  Just as Matt predicted. It’s an absolute rocket, with all of his gangly teenage weight behind the shot to get it to Matt’s target as quickly as he can manage, without any of the errant sticks in the slot breaking it up first.

It reaches Matt’s target, his stick redirecting the puck above the goalie’s shoulder in a way that he’s unprepared for, shutting the five-hole in response to Noah’s slap shot. Noah’s mind is a blur as he races over to where Matt’s getting dog-piled, his smile nearly manic when Matt looks over the top of the scrum of American bodies to point at him with a wink.

“Nice fucking shot, Ace!” He yells, roughly pulling Noah into him.

“Couldn’t let me get it myself, huh?” Noah shouts back over the noise, delighted at being the focus of Matt’s attention.

“You and me, baby,” Matt responds, grinning wildly. “You and me,” the repeated sentence is loaded with something inexplicably _more_ ; Matt’s eyes shining so fucking bright that Noah’s stomach flips.

The realization comes slamming into him with a force he’s never felt in any of the hundreds of hockey games he’s played. Matt’s fucking _beautiful_.

Yet, beautiful is only one word that pales in comparison to the nearly overwhelming entity that is Matthew Tkachuk. He’s everything that shouldn’t be used to describe a hockey player, yet somehow effortlessly encompasses. And it may just be his hockey-boner talking, but Noah somehow comprehends this won’t just be a small crush.

Because ranking Matt among the small, meaningless hockey crushes Noah’s experienced throughout his formative years seems almost a crime. It should be surprising, the way that Matt has completely taken Noah, but he can’t complain too much.

Because that’s what Heartbreaker Tkachuk does. And maybe it’s just hormones and misplaced hope, but Noah sees a softness in that smile that isn’t directed towards anyone else. He’s possessive in his delusions, accompanied by the the very real happiness that Matt’s smile induces.

 

\---

 

Noah’s phone lights up like the fourth of July after the trade, and he’s tempted to turn it onto ‘do not disturb’ mode, but that would mean actually picking up his phone. That would mean acknowledging it’s all real. That the incessant buzzing coming from under his bed aren’t his friends, teammates, and family offering their thoughts and congratulations on the trade.

But still, it’s time to do something other than staring at a wall and wishing it weren’t true. For better or worse, he’s now a Calgary Flame.

Scrolling through his phone yields superficial congratulations from other players who don’t know his situation, who are happy for him escaping the dumpster fire that is Carolina. Nearing the end of the seemingly endless barrage of texts are his closer family and friends, the ones who know exactly why the trade is so overwhelmingly excruciating.

**Eichs**

_If you need someone to help bury the body I’ll be there. Just let me know. <3 _

It’s such a ‘Jack’ way of offering a shoulder to cry on that Noah nearly smiles. Nearly. Because there’s another text just below him, from an unknown number. Yet it becomes very apparent who it is once Noah reads the message.

**Unknown Number**

_congrats, ace. I’ll see u soon_

The fucking nickname mocks him, destroying him much more efficiently than his racing mind. Which is what prompts his thumb, jabbing the call icon on the contact information.

“’lo?” Matt questions in a groggy voice, sighing over the receiver.

Noah’s probably woken him up from one of his naps. And the tone of his voice is so achingly familiar that if Noah were to close his eyes he’d be practically beside Matt in the bed, watching as he further snuggled into his pillow, or into Noah, in an attempt to avoid waking up. And his eyes. The way the blue were always so much more pronounced when he first awoke, shining brilliantly in the dim light of their bedroom.

And Noah, he aches with memory. He hates that he can remember with startlingly clarity the good things. The _best_ things. His loathing hasn’t washed away the best memories of he and Matt together; the ones that make it hurt to be apart from him.

However; the horrible memories remain as well, and realistically, it’s for the best. The way his chest now ignites in a fiery rage whenever Matt’s name is mentioned, instead of softening with a contented warmth.

“Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this,” he spits heatedly into his iPhone, but there’s tumultuous layer of desperation in his voice that doesn’t go unnoticed by him or Matt.

“Noah?” Matt questions, clearing his throat. “To do with what?”

“The fucking trade.”

“The-? No, of course not!” Matt’s voice is impassioned, so completely different from the voice that picked up the phone only seconds ago. “I _wouldn’t_ okay? That’s not—I wouldn’t. I know the last place you want to be is anywhere near me, okay? I know.”

“They said they talked to you,” Noah continues on, ignoring the truthful last bit of his statement. It’s a terrifying thought, being in the same vicinity as Matt.

“Well—yeah. They asked me if you were a good guy, and all that stuff,” Matt confirms, “they were basically looking for confirmation, the trade was already set in motion. You have to trust me that I wouldn’t—“

“I don’t trust a single fucking thing that comes out of your mouth,” Noah hisses, his words as bitter and threadbare as he feels.

On the other line, Matt sighs. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

Noah laughs, but it’s so completely devoid of any light that it constricts his own chest. “I guess we’ll just have to add it to the list of things you’re ‘sorry’ for then, huh?”

“Noah, please—“

The hushed, broken words filter through his speakers and he’s hanging up before Matt can even finish his sentence.

Noah shouldn’t have to feel guilty about this. He did nothing wrong but love a man who only loved himself.

 

\---

 

Matt kisses him filthily against the side of his billet’s house, invading his space like he owns him. Which, in a way, he does. Because the kiss is possessive, Noah’s body a yielding string to Matthew’s puppeteer hands. Each manipulation of his body comes willingly, a gentle tilt of his head, or a hitched leg around Matt’s slim hips.

It’s everything he’s admittedly imagined about kissing Matt, yet so much more. His daydreams don’t account for the way Matt’s body is so fucking warm against his, and the little sighs released as Matt works himself closer to Noah, tilting his head to kiss him deeper, slower. Or the way his knuckles absentmindedly stroke over Noah’s cheek and down to his jaw, the action unexpectedly tender, yet so expectedly Matt.

It’s the best drunken kiss he’s ever had. It’s also the best kiss he’s ever had, period. Which is why breaking it is so fucking difficult; separating himself from Matt is akin to separating two opposing magnets.

“Wha’?” Matt mumbles disconcertingly as Noah untangles himself from the clutches of Matt’s body.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” Noah questions, breathless as he protects his heart. He’s not sure where rejection from Matt would land him, but he’s betting it’s not good.

“What?” Matt repeats as his face works through his shock at Noah’s question. “Of course not.”

“We’ve both been drinking…” Noah trails off.

“I stopped drinking when you did,” Matt replies with a knowing smile. “Which I know because I didn’t take my eyes off of you the whole night.”

Noah’s cheeks immediately heat, bashful under Matt’s unwavering gaze. “Are you sure?” He can’t help but ask.

“Ace,” Matt whispers softly, moving back into the space he’s rightfully claimed as his. “I know that I want this, okay? And I know you do too,” his words aren’t cocky, merely matter of fact as his hand trails over Noah’s neck and down to his shoulder. “I’m just―I’m sorry it took me so long to build up the courage to do this.”

“Yeah?” Matt’s statement curls a grin across his features, and he feels so fucking happy.

Noah wonders if this is what it feels like to win the Stanley Cup.  Something supposedly so out of reach, and then all of a sudden reality? It’s shock, happiness, and passion, interwoven to create a blissful pause from reality, and Noah relishes it.

“Yeah, man. I was like, nervous,” Matt chuckles softly, his eyes averting momentarily in embarrassment. “I was genuinely worried I was going to fucking attack you or some shit after you scored a beauty goal.”

“You were nervous?” Noah’s voice is pure honey as his fingers smooth over the fabric of Matt’s polo.

“Of course, man,” he answers sincerely. “You have a way of rattling me? In, like, a good way?” At Noah’s chuckle, he jokingly pinches Noah’s ribcage. “Shut up. I just, want to do this right. I mean obviously I haven’t, but I’d like to make it right, if you’d let me?”

Noah feels the happiness all the way in his nerves, synapsing a radiant warmth that spreads to his extremities and slows the background static in his brain, until all he can feel is Matt, Matt, Matt.

“Matty,” he whispers affectionately, his eyes practically in the shape of hearts. “Everything about this is right, okay? But continuing _this_ would definitely not meet any objection.”

“I’m going to sweep you off your fucking feet, all proper and shit, just you watch,” Matt beams happily, and the promise squeezes Noah’s heart with warmth, because it’s a promise that he knows Matt will follow through on.

 _You already have_ , is his response, but it dies on his tongue as Matt leans back in with a small, soft grin.

 

\---

 

They’re down 4-0 with ten left to go in the third. As for a first game with the Flames, he can already envision the headlines tomorrow, claiming how much of a bust he is in comparison to their traded stock in Dougie Hamilton.

So Noah does what he always does, pinching to generate some offence. However, the desperation generated by a nearly lost game means that his teammates also share his mentality.

Matt, who he’s quickly learning is the heart and soul of the team, drops his gloves against a hulking d-man from the Ducks. It begins as a skirmish in front of the net, Matt opening himself up for the deflection that is needed to get them back in the game.

Matt’s holding his own, trading punches with the same reckless energy his opponent is. Noah’s frozen against the boards, watching the fight, unable to do anything.

Distantly, he wonders if his stomach will ever stop tightening in anxiety when Matt fights, and if the burning air travelling through his choked windpipe will ever stop hurting. He hates that Matt still unknowingly claims this side of him, a side that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to truly shake.

When the fight finishes, with Matt being pulled off the defeated body on the ice, he skates off to the box with a bloody lip. And then it’s as if a nearly dormant part of Matt awakens, glancing back at Noah, remembering how the fighting always worried him, even as a fellow player.

He doesn’t nod at Noah, but the communication is undeniable. Noah hates that he requires reassurance, but he despises Matt even more for thinking it’s his reassurance to give.

Then the door to the box is shut, condemning Matt to his two-minute prison sentence. Noah looks down to the ice and licks his chapped lips absentmindedly. He knows that Matt is watching him from his position in the box, but for once he doesn’t care. Let him watch.

Because Noah’s about to put on a show. For Calgary. It’s time to show them exactly who they traded for.

 

\---

 

They’re setting for a pass-and-score drill, with Matthew on Noah’s wing to receive the puck. It’s the first time he’s ever played with Matthew, and for some reason he really, really, doesn’t want to mess it up. Even though he’s performed the drill multiple times, they’re testing for chemistry between vets and the new recruits, and he doesn’t want to make any mistakes, in both Matthew’s eyes and the Coach’s.

There are defencemen attempting to break up the shot, but otherwise it’s an easy enough drill. Matthew skates up to him before the first whistle.

“What’s the play?” Matt murmurs quietly, with his glove over his mouth. And it’s then that Noah realizes he’s not the only one attempting to prove something.

He’s the son of a former NHLer, justifying that he can make it to the show without the influence of his father’s name. He may be Heartbreaker Tkachuk off the ice, but on the ice he’s smooth, cold, and calculating.

“I’m gonna fake the pass, and wrist it,” Noah explains quietly as he scrutinizes their defensive opposition for the drill. There are no rookies, no one that Noah hasn’t already performed his internal scouting on. “Just stay low, and don’t cheat, I need you to sell that lane.”

Matthew nods like he understands the play, and skates back to his start position at the hash marks, whereas Noah remains in his spot at the blue line. The whistle signifies the beginning of the drill, with his Coach saucing him the puck across the blue line.

Predictably, the defence rush towards him, not considering his slap shot mildly, or his veteran status. Noah pretends to slightly fumble with the puck, allowing a few more seconds for the defence to fully commit, leaving Matthew unchecked at the side of the net.

When he glances for a split-second over at Matthew, he can see he’s kept his depth, but is slightly out of position for a one-timer. A wrister it is, then. He no-look passes to Matthew, threading the puck through the snarling web of skates crashing his lane.

Matthew may not have been in perfect position, but he’s still an elite hockey player with extremely sensitive reflexes. Within seconds of the puck touching his tape it’s off, lifted above the goalie’s shoulder in an impressively accurate shot borne out of mind-numbing repetition. The defence glance up at Noah with faux-annoyed grins at being bested.

Matthew, on the other hand, looks stunned, peeking back at the net as if to make sure he didn’t imagine the puck soaring into the mesh.

“Nice sell, Chuky!” Coach shouts across the ice, as if it were their plan all along.

Matthew colours slightly, but it’s difficult to tell under his flush of exertion. Noah only knows because his eyes drop to the ice in a moment of humility, before they raise back to look at Noah skating towards him.

“Nice shot,” Noah comments smugly, raising his fist to bump Matthew’s outstretched one.

“Nice shot?” He breathes incredulously. “More like beauty fucking pass, dude. I don’t know how the fuck that puck got through the slot.”

“Thanks,” Noah replies, with his own flush that he desperately hopes is concealed with his own exercise-induced pink cheeks.

“Wait,” Matthew murmurs slowly, a small smile spreading. “You shooting was never really the play, was it?”

He’s smart, and a quick learner. Noah likes him already.

“I just really needed you to sell that shot,” Noah admits honestly.

“To the point where I was out of position?” Matthew laughs at himself. “Huh. Smart play though.”

His eyes slide over to Noah’s, praise contained within them. He knows that he’s just passed some sort of test in Matthew’s mind, and Noah can’t help but puff up slightly in pride.

“Takes two to execute it though.”

“Well, yeah, but you aced that puck over like Serena fucking Williams, holy shit,” Matthew says, disbelief still influencing his tone.

“Just call me Serena, then,” Noah jokes back with a smile.

“Nah,” Matthew smirks back. “I like Ace better.”

 

\---

 

It all boils over on his fourth outing with the Flames.

It’s Johnny’s birthday, and the team drags everyone out after their game; a convincing 4-2 win over the Habs. And that’s where it all begins. Noah just really fucking hates birthdays. Even more, he despises the way Matt’s mouth forms around the words; a joyous phrase to some, a knife to the heart for Noah.

He can’t necessarily take it out on Johnny, who only has the disservice of being born and celebrating it. No, it’s the person sandwiched between the birthday boy and Mony. The centre of attention, as fucking always.

Noah’s chosen to remain sober for the night, blaming the fact that he drove, omitting the fact that his bitterness is magnified tenfold when intoxicated, and he doesn’t want to subject the rest of his teammates to that.

But still, it’s all becoming too much. The falsified smiles directed at teammates who need no more than a small smile and a ‘I’m my own DD tonight, man,’ before they carry on their merry way. The glances he catches Matt making when he thinks Noah’s not looking, and the fact that Matt hasn’t consumed a drop of alcohol at all, still following Noah’s lead, after all this time.

And it’s just too much. Just too fucking much. He pushes himself out of his chair, murmuring something about a bathroom to anyone who cares enough to listen.

He’s walking towards his car with slight desperation, increasing his normally slower walking pace to barricade himself within the quiet peace of his car.

“Noah, wait!” He hears behind him, and Noah growls in frustration. He should have just fucking sprinted.

“What do you want?” They’re cruel, his words, but he can’t watch the impact they have on Matt, his eyes instead trained to the weathered pavement of the parking lot.

“Why—you’re leaving?” He questions as Noah anxiously plays with the keys in his hand.

“I can’t—“ _be around you, it hurts too much_ , his mind inwardly finishes. “Yeah, I am,” he says instead, willing the quiver in his voice to go away.

“Oh, um,” Matt stutters awkwardly, and Noah knows this must be a situation he rarely finds himself in.

Someone who _knows_ him, knows his secrets; someone who _was_ his secret, and hates him more than anyone else. Because there’s rarely a person who isn’t instantly in love with Matthew Tkachuk, and even more impossible to have someone who he can’t win over with his charms.

Noah watches as he clumsily shifts, abrading his emerald Old Skool Vans on the rough pavement. The same Vans that Noah bought him as a housewarming present in Calgary, because he forgot half of his wardrobe back in Missouri. They’re severely more beat up than when he saw them last, with the scuff marks along the rubber indicating heavy use.

“I bought you those,” Noah softly states aloud, unthinkingly, and his eyes are on Matt’s face before his mind can even scold him. And was Matt’s face always this broken, this vulnerable? He can’t remember. Except in the way that he definitely can.

Not contained within his memory are the bags under Matt’s eyes that are too pronounced for a twenty-one year old hockey player. The grim twist to his lips that shelters pain, and the way his eyebrows are narrowed, attempting for the façade that Noah’s perfected, yet failing tragically.

It was always something Matt could never do well; hide the emotion on his face, too passionate to ever fully disallude a person. Especially not Noah.

And, maybe his own façade crumbles in the face of someone who knows his tells. Either way, Matt’s pain is good. Let him suffer.

“Uh, yeah, you did,” Matt softly responds, glancing down at the shoes.

It doesn’t escape Noah that this is the longest they’ve spoken in person since Matt broke his heart in the most humiliating way possible.

“What do you want?” Noah sighs, tired of this little game they’re playing.

“To talk,” Matt responds, sounding just as weary.

Noah wordlessly nods. Unsurprising. “Now, ask me what I want.”

Matt just stares at him, a little wide-eyed, as if he’s afraid of Noah’s answer. Good. He should be.

“What do you want?” The question is spoken with a cringe, Matt edging away in preparation for the rebuttal he seems to have orchestrated within his own head.

“I want some space,” Noah says truthfully. “We’ve been grouped together since I got here, and I need time to adjust. I need time to get used to this. And you need to _give_ it to me.”

“I understand, but it’s starting to affect the team—“

“The fucking team, of course,” Noah interjects, furious. “How about this, _Matthew_?” Noah watches with grim satisfaction as his lips purse at the use of his full name. “I’m, for once, putting myself first, above the NHL, and above any fucking team. You’ll respect that, or we’re going to have more issues than we do now.”

“More issues?” Matt laughs bitterly, his aggression peaking out in the face of Noah’s demands.

His own despair responds in kind to Matt’s bitterness, his body still so in tune with Matt’s reactions. “Well, let’s not forget who decided I wasn’t enough,” there’s an innocent lilt to Noah’s voice, but it’s so scarred by pain that it may as well be a cry of anguish.

“That’s not—Noah, that’s not fucking fair,” Matt begins desperately, his hands twitching at his sides. They’re his greatest weapon, both on the ice and off. Because Matt has hands that can heal, but also destroy. “You were always enough for me, don’t you ever fucking doubt that,” his voice is choked, with that same scarring, and that’s when Noah knows it’s time. Time to finish him off.

“For a time I believe that, sure,” Noah begins, “but that was always the downfall, you were never quite good on your own,” his words are vindictive, bringing forth Matt’s weaknesses as if summoning an army to war.

Matt flinches like he’s been slapped, his face mirroring the devastation Noah knew his words would create. He set a target for Matt’s heart and mercilessly hit his bulls eye, tearing it into two unwilling halves. “Noah,” he whispers despairingly, his breath cutting off on a choked sob.

He’s crying, too. Two beautiful tracks streak down from his eyes, with Matt not making any attempt to wipe them away. He’s too busy staring at Noah with a frenzied despondency, as if he doesn’t even recognize him anymore.

Good. That makes two of them.

“We done here?” Noah questions monotonously, clasping the keys so tightly within his fist that he can feel the ridges cutting into the meat of his palm. “Good talk.”

He leaves Matt there, stranded as he once stranded Noah. In the comfort of his car he allows his own matching set of tears fall, staining the leather lined steering wheel. It’s not long before he has to pull over, his body succumbing to the unrelenting emotions that he previously refused to allow himself to feel.

 

\---

 

“I’m so lucky,” Noah whispers adoringly, crushing the bouquet of blood red dahlias between the nearly delirious way he’s clutching at Matt. “Baby, I’m so fucking lucky.”

“Well, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t come down to see your first game?” Matt chirps back, smiling into the tender peck he presses onto Noah’s shower-warmed cheek.

“Still a really fucking good one,” Noah has to say, because surprising him with a bouquet of flowers after his first NHL game? That’s really only the stuff of dreams.

“Oh my god, stop,” Matt emphasizes, waving off his praise with an embarrassed laugh.

“But what about school? You have class tomorrow,” Noah is haste to remember, even through the blinding happiness of Matt’s presence.

“I think I have swine flu? Or is it worms this time?” Matt looks up at the ceiling in thought, and then shrugs. “Either way, Luke and Aus are taking care of it. I’m yours for the next two days,” he states brazenly with a wink.

“Of course they are,” Noah huffs, rolling his eyes. The fucking three idiots who’d do anything for each other. Still, he can’t say that their idiocy isn’t appreciated, because at least he gets two days with Matt, something that he used to take for granted but fucking cherishes now. “I wonder how I’ll ever make it up to you,” Noah trails off, running his hand down the soft material of Matt’s pull-over.

Matt laughs softly, leaning into Noah’s caress like he’s been starving for it.

“Yeah I fucking wonder too, because those flights weren’t cheap, y’know,” Matt grumbles playfully. “Hey, speaking of, when am I going to receive my NHL-player boyfriend perks? You’re a hotshot now, huh?”

Noah’s smile is uncontrollably wide, the way it always is around Matthew. He’s just so, so fucking happy. “Just say the word, baby.” And then he remembers the black card Matthew has back in Ann Arbor; the one his dad had given for him to use for ‘emergencies.’ “So, what about this was an emergency, then?”

Matt flushes, caught in his lie, before the smirk resurfaces, the unfailing confidence brought back to life. “Your dick was calling out to me like an SOS, how could I say no?”

It such a such a ‘Matt’ thing to say that Noah’s already chuckling before he can even finish his sentence. “Seriously though,” Noah begins, smiling softly at Matt, unconcerned with the love showing true across his features in the secluded area of PNC arena that they found. “I really can’t explain how much it means that you came out here; you mean so much to me, and I’m so happy I get to share this with you.”

Noah can see the way his words spark joy Matt’s eyes, undeniable in their reciprocating affection.

“Baby, I’m so fucking proud of you, seriously,” his smile is wide with tenderness, the way it only is when it’s the two of them. “And I know it sucks that your parents couldn’t make it out, but I’m so happy I could come and see this, because you’ve never looked better, never looked more confident with the puck,” his eyes are a fierce blue as he speaks.

Maybe it’s the fast-dwindling adrenaline, or maybe it’s the sheer overwhelming fact that his boyfriend surprised him with flowers after his first fucking NHL game. Either way, he’s tearing up as he pulls Matt into another tight embrace. “You’re my family too, y’know,” his words are quiet, soft.

Matt’s arms around tighten around him momentarily, and he buries his face into Noah’s neck, the telltale smoothness of his teeth pressed into Noah’s skin with his grin. “I’m really, really happy I met you, Ace.”

 

\---

 

He’s staring at his wall, feeling empty and blank. He registers a buzzing through the fog in his mind, and blindly reaches for his phone. Through the shattered screen on his phone that somehow works after all that Noah’s put it through, he sees the caller ID. It’s Chantal. He debates on letting it go to voicemail, but realistically, it’s not her fault that her son decided Noah wasn’t enough.

“Chantal?” He croaks when he picks up the phone, his voice still hoarse from the aftermath of his trip home from Calgary.

There’s a moment of silence on the other line, before loud, piercing sobs filter through the speaker. “Noah, I’m―so―I’m―” Her words are caught between hiccuping cries, until she breaks down in breathless wails.

It’s strange, because she sounds exactly like Matt when he cries. The huffed, quick breaths that turn into full-bodied bawls. It’s clearly an action he learned from his mother, because he really can’t see Keith sobbing in the devastating way she is.

“Chantal, please―” he begs, a single tear sliding down his cheek before rapidly being met with another, and another, until he’s matching the force of her cries, gripping the phone as if it’s a life raft in the sweeping tide of his tears.

 

\---

 

They’re at Noah’s billet’s house, shooting pucks in the backyard when he notices it. Especially because in this current stage of the honeymoon phase, he absolutely can’t take his eyes off of Matthew. Matt is flicking pucks towards their makeshift net with a wrister, but his form is completely off.

His back foot is planted, limiting the follow through of his hips. But more surprising is the fact that despite his poor form, all of his pucks hit their target with startling accuracy. For a player at such a high caliber of play, the poor form is definitely shocking; more so when Noah realizes that his form doesn’t suffer on the ice, because Noah definitely would have remembered that. Frankly, so would their Coach.

“Your form on your wrister is interesting,” Noah comments casually.

“Thanks,” Matt replies sarcastically with a grin, but Noah notices that he makes more of an effort to open his back foot on his next shot, following through with near textbook precision.

“Who was your skills coach?” Noah continues, his curiosity peaked. “I’ve never seen that specific footwork on a wrist shot before.”

“Oh,um―” Matt cuts himself off, fidgeting with the puck. He’s nervous, Noah realizes belatedly.

“If you don’t feel comfortable telling me, it’s fine,” Noah smiles reassuringly, but he can’t deny that Matt’s hesitancy has spiked his interest.

“No, it’s not that,” Matt shakes his head. “I just, didn’t have a skills coach for a while?”

“Really?” Noah can’t quite contain the shock in his voice. One would think that an NHL player would have his son set up with a skills coach as soon as he learned to skate. “Who taught you how to shoot, then?”

“It’s a secret,” Matt whispers jokingly, but there’s no accompanying humour in his eyes.

“Matt, baby, you can tell me,” Noah pushes gently.

“Is that what boyfriends do? Share the gossip of our childhoods?” He attempts for another joke, unaware that Noah can completely see through the shield he’s attempting to build around himself.

“Matt,” he sighs.

“Alright,” Matt huffs back at him, pouting his lips out like he does when in thought. “I taught myself, okay? I guess the form just kind of stuck.”

“But what about your peewee coach?” Noah questions, confused. “Surely he would have trained it out of you?”

“That’s the thing,” Matt laughs, a soft, bitter thing that makes Noah’s stomach drop. “To do that, I’d have to be practicing more at the rink than at home.”

Noah’s eyebrows furrow, not comprehending what Matt is trying to say. “I don’t understand.”

Matt is quiet for a moment, chewing on his lip as he loses himself in thought. Then, he raises his eyes back to Noah with a sigh.

“Look, when I was a young kid, I always loved gardening; planting flowers especially,” Matt begins a little dreamily, his eyes fogged over with memory. “But my dad didn’t like the way it took me away from practicing hockey, so he enforced a practice session every day.”

Noah’s lips purse. “And I’m guessing those practices weren’t voluntary?”

“You could say that,” Matt chuckles softly. “Sometimes, when I was being extra rowdy, he’d just lock me in the basement with my practice net, gloves, stick and puck, only coming to collect me when the three hours had passed,” Matt’s attempting to smile through it, but Noah can see the minuscule twitch in his eye.

“He just locked you down there by yourself?” Noah can’t help but repeat in disbelief.

“When I was younger, I used to think that was part of the punishment” Matt mumbles, dazed with the smothering film of memory. “Being left by myself.”

 _God_. Noah’s filled with a rising tide of rage for Matt as a child, enduring being locked in a basement by himself to figure out something he had no idea how to properly do. And then it all makes sense of why Matt’s form suffers. Because he had no one to teach him.

“Matt, I’m so sorry,” he speaks gently, reaching for Matt’s gloved hand.

“For what?” He shrugs, his vulnerable eyes flickering back up at Noah. “I honestly don’t think it was ever abuse. I mean, my dad loves me, is _proud_ of me. I guess I just needed a little tough love to get there,” he explains with another calm shrug. “I’m not mad at him for doing what he did, because without it I might not even be playing for the NTDP, or here with you.”

“Baby,” Noah sighs at his confession, pulling him into a tight hug, cradling his head into Noah’s neck.

“I think that’s why I like practicing deflections, why I’ve gotten good at it,” he’s unexpectedly candid from his position of safety, tucked against Noah’s body. “Because at least then there’s always someone else practicing with you,” his hushed voice isn’t particularly upset, just matter of fact.

Still, Noah’s heart cracks painfully at the admission. “Matt, you and I can practice deflections any time you want, okay?”

He knows his statement is cheesy, but the muted groan of laughter from Matt makes it all worth it. “Nah, it’s just something stupid. I don’t want to bother you.”

“And you won’t okay?” Noad affirms, running his hand soothingly over Matt’s back. “You don’t deserve to be alone, and I’ll be with you whenever I can. I _want_ to be with you whenever I can.”

“Thanks,” Matt says softly, his fist clenching around Noah’s shirt. “I’ve never, um, told anyone that, y’know. It’s just you and Brady,” Matt murmurs into his skin, his voice impossibly soft. “My mom and sister would flip if they knew.”

“You can trust me with this,” Noah affirms, leaning down to kiss his hair when Matt further burrows into him. “I _promise_ you, you can trust me with this.”

 

\---

 

Jack’s on a one-man mission to single-handedly destroy Matt. Beginning with absolutely ruthless checks that send Matt’s head spinning towards the ref after each scrum, and cursing at the lack of a whistle.

It’s honestly a miracle Jack hasn’t been called for a penalty yet.

Noah watches on with a confusing satisfaction as Matt becomes more and more frustrated. It’s a fine line that Noah’s mentally trapezing, because he does want his team to win, but then there’s also the matter of watching his best friend pummel his ex into the boards relentlessly.

And there’s an obvious size difference between the two, not necessarily in height, but in width. Jack’s just _big_ , strong where Matt is lean and corded with muscle. And Jack’s most definitely carrying out his promise made to Noah before the game through text.

He’s making Matt wish he never set foot onto the ice.

 

\---

 

Everything’s quiet. Peaceful.

There’s the soft hum of the TV in the background, and the solid warmth of Matt’s body as he lies back into Noah from where they’re entangled on the couch.

Even though they’re at Noah’s place in Raleigh, it feels as if they’ve left Earth entirely, and carved out their own little corner of the universe, where they can just _be_. A world fashioned out of human-warmed blankets, and Matt. Where they don’t have to hide their love behind closed doors; where a best friend appreciation instagram post can exist as what it truly is; an anniversary post.

Absentmindedly, he smoothes over the tighter, coarser curls at the nape of Matt’s neck, smiling at the pleased hum his actions garner.

“I thought you were asleep,” Noah murmurs, twirling one of the coiled ringlets around his finger.

“Not a chance,” Matt breathes, burrowing his head even closer into Noah’s shoulder so that he can look up at Noah. “I wouldn’t miss my show for the world,” he adds with a sleepy grin.

Matt gestures lazily at what’s playing on TV; the latest season of Gardener’s World that Noah bought Matt for christmas. It’s the one thing other than sex that can calm him down completely, and have him lax against Noah like he is now. Noah can’t contain his own responding grin, leaning down to gently kiss Matt’s cheek.

They’re watching how to re-pot a hydrangea when Matt clears his throat.

“Hey, I’m um, in love with you, y’know,” Matt’s words are stilted, the unfamiliar phrase lagging on his lips. Yet his eyes are deep with emotion, the same way they’ve always been. The unchanging devotion present that spoke of his love far before he ever had the words to voice it.

Noah’s stunned into silence, his mind racing. To be loved by someone he fucking _cherishes_ is an exhilarating feeling, and he savours it. Here, in their little corner of the universe, he’s _loved_.

“You are?” Noah can’t help but question, his voice softened by awe.

“Duh,” Matt says impatiently. “You’re kind of really easy to love, man.”

“I obviously love you just as much,” Noah whispers back tenderly, feeling his cheeks heat at the open, beautiful smile that stretches across Matt’s face.

“Obviously,” Matt chirps back playfully, settling himself back against Noah. “I’m glad we got that cleared up,” he huffs out sarcastically.

Noah exhales a laugh and winds his arms around Matt’s middle, dropping his head down to Matt’s shoulder. “So what happened to Heartbreaker Tkachuk then, hm?” He questions cheekily.

“You, apparently,” Matt jests back with a smile, intertwining his own fingers with Noah’s resting across his stomach.

 

\---

 

When Noah and his brother get home from Jurassic World, his parents are waiting for him in the living room. The looks on their faces are telling. They already know.

His mom cries, sweeping him into a warm hug that doesn’t do anything to extinguish the panic creeping up his throat like bile. His dad clasps a supportive hand on his shoulder and tells him to keep his head up.

It’s good enough advice.

Because the tears won’t fall if he’s not looking down.

 

\---

 

The weight of the flowers sit heavily between his hands as he stands outside of Matt’s apartment door. It was a close call, but he’d managed to convince the team that him missing an optional skate would be worth it.

Especially when it involved flying out to Matt for a surprise visit.

It was a last minute decision, but one he knew Matt would love. Letting himself into the apartment with his own key, he marvels at the cleanliness of the apartment.

“Matt?” He calls out, dropping his bag at the front door. “Baby?”

He figures that Matt’s still asleep, walking down the hallway to his bedroom, until his eyes catch on the way the guest bedroom’s door is open. Which is unusual, because the guest bedroom is never used, unless his family is visiting.

He pokes his head through the door, and what he sees immediately drops the smile from his face. There’s a girl mounted on top of Matt, fondling over his bare chest, the miles of skin that Noah’s memorized like his own name.

_Oh, god._

_Matt_ , he pleads in his mind, unnoticed by Matt, or the girl, with the way his eyes are closed at her advances. Matt, he said he wouldn’t, he said Noah was it for him.

He promised, and now Noah is here to witness exactly what promises meant to Matthew. Empty words accompanied by a connivingly gorgeous smile.

“Matt,” he chokes out, watching as the scene in front of him rapidly changes at the sound of his voice, making him so, so dizzy.

Matt’s eyes snap towards his, and they’re already wet with tears, his reaction peculiarly quick. “Oh my god, Noah—no,” he fumbles with the girl, pushing her locked body off of his.

Noah’s going to pass out.

The girl’s eyes flicker towards him, and he’s frozen for a moment, sharing a connection with someone who nearly had Matthew they way he has. Or had. The way she would have had, if Noah hadn’t come.  On his surprise fucking visit.

Her features are angular, her pouted lips shaped into a small ‘o’ with realization. “I didn’t—“ she begins, yet cuts herself off before Noah does.

Through the suffocating tide of despair stealing the breath from his lungs, there’s a thought that cuts through. It’s oddly detached, lacking in the way the void has stolen his emotions, and his words from him.

_She has Noah’s eyes._

It’s what prompts him into action, slamming the yellow carnations onto the table. “Heartbreaker Tkachuk,” Noah snaps viciously, “I should’ve known. Happy fucking birthday.”

He turns to leave, but is held back by the agony in Matt’s voice, hooking claws into his body and ruthlessly holding him in place. “Noah, baby, please I can explain—“

“You promised me, you fucking _promised_ ,” Matt flinches at the crack in Noah’s voice, and he can’t help but feel a perverse sort of relief. That he can still hurt Matt.

Matt’s eyes drop to the bed, and Noah is just so fucking done. Matt can cheat, yet not even have the nerve to look him in the eye? A fucking coward is what he is. “You disgust me,” Noah’s words are quiet, lethal, as he feels his eyes burn along with the fiery pit in his chest where his light once occupied.

He turns on his heel and practically sprints through the apartment, ignoring the increasingly tormented shouts of his name from behind him. He rips the door open and slams it behind him, rushing down the hallway as fast as his legs will carry him. Distantly, he has the foresight to shove his clenched fist into his mouth, muffling his tear-streaked screams.

He bites down so hard on the thin skin of his hand that he tastes copper.

He’s nearly at the elevator when he realizes that Matt’s given up. And really, that’s just the cherry on top. Did he ever even give a shit about Noah? Or was that just another lie, layered between other lies?

Or maybe he’s giving the flowers to the girl in an attempt to appease the superficial guilt that marred his features.

Maybe.

Noah doesn’t stick around to find out.

 

\---

 

“I’m gonna buy a fucking greenhouse,” Matt slurs out, leaning heavily on Noah as they climb the stairs to his Raleigh apartment.

“What?” Noah snickers at his idiot of a boyfriend.

“I’m gonna buy a fucking _greenhouse_ ,” Matt emphasizes, having difficulty correctly forming the words. “So I can give you dahlias all year ‘round, every single day.”

“That seems a bit excessive,” Noah laughs it off, but can’t deny the heat in his cheeks and the way his stomach swoops happily.

“Ace,” Matt gasps in a scandalized tone. “As long as I love you, you’ll receive a dahlia every day, no matter the price or effort. You deserve it all baby, and I’ll give you everything,” the end of his sentence is punctuated with a hiccup and Noah is so fond he feels as if he’s going to burst.

“I love you, dumbass,” he huffs in a faux-annoyed tone, pushing a water bottle into Matt’s unsteady hands. “Now, drink your fucking water.”

 

\---

 

Noah loves doing charity events, especially children’s hospital visits when he can brighten a child’s day with his presence alone. It’s definitely a powerful feeling. And he knows that Matt loves them even more, his smile carrying out relentless damage on Noah’s heart.

He’s playing with a group of three children on their train set, making obnoxious chugging sounds as he races his train around the track. It doesn’t fail to make them all laugh, another group that is more than susceptible to his charm.

One boy in particular is noticeably taken by Matt, curling his small hand around Matt’s forearm, tucked into the warm space of Matt’s side that Noah knows is as safe as it looks. The boy has a recognizable sort of hero worship expressed in his eyes as he gazes at Matt, who sets all of their trains at the beginning of the track.

“All aboard!” Matt calls out animatedly, laughing as the kids scramble for their trains at the start line.

It’s no surprise how good Matt is with the kids. He always said he wanted a family one day. Noah was just gullible enough to assume Matt wanted one with him.

 

\---

 

The Missouri sun beats down on him from the Tkachuk’s backyard, the perfect weather for a barbecue. Noah’s genuinely unsure as to what excuse Matt came up with to have Noah follow him back home for the weekend, but he treasures the thought of spending more time with his boyfriend before his draft.

He’s deciding between a second helping of potato or pasta salad when Matt’s mother sidles up next to him, covering the grilled steak with foil to keep away the flies. He admittedly doesn’t know her all that well, but from what’s he’s seen, she seems nice.

“I forgot how much you boys eat,” she chuckles to herself, gesturing down to Noah’s nearly full second plate.

He tamps down the anxiety at talking to his boyfriend’s unknowing mother alone, the guilt eating away at him. Still, Noah forces a smile in response. “It’s not hard to do when the food is so good,” he responds politely.

Judging by her smile, it’s the right thing to say. “So,” she begins conversationally, lowering her voice, “how long have the two of you been together?”

She says it with such ease that Noah nearly glosses over her words, until his mind actually registers them. He drops the ladle back into the pasta salad in shock.

“You know?” He’s completely blindsided at being caught out. He thought they were doing so well at keeping it between the two of them.

“I know my son,” she laughs lightly, “and I especially know when he’s in love.”

Noah’s eyes subconsciously flitter over to Matt, who’s chasing his younger cousin around, laughing freely like he has no care in the world. Noah knows he’s grinning like an idiot at the scene in front of him, but he can’t help it.

“I’m sorry,” he says solemnly, turning back to Chantal. “We were just waiting for the right time.”

“And you’ll find it,” she reassures, lightly squeezing his bicep. “Until then, I’ll keep this between us until the both of you are comfortable,” she says, smiling at Noah.

“You’re not mad?” He can’t help but question.

“Of course not,” she dismisses with a wave of her hand. “I’m happy. So happy for the both of you.”

“Thank you,” he whispers softly, joy filling him at her blessing.

“I already see it y’know,” she continues with a fond smile, “you balance him out. I know he can be a bit much, but he will treat you right,” she pauses for a moment, considering her statement. “He is though, treating you right?”

“The best,” Noah’s eyes drop to the table in front of him as his cheeks flame. “He treats me the best.”

“Good,” she says proudly, her voice choked with emotion.

 

\---

 

**Baby <3**

Missed Calls ( _38_ )

 

**5 New Voicemails**

 

\---

 

Matt’s quiet when they back to the hotel in Buffalo. It’s atypical of him, especially on such an exciting day. Matt keeps shooting these open, vulnerable glances at him until he can’t take it anymore, wrapping his arms around Matt and leaning his head on Matt’s shoulder from where he’s sitting at the foot of the bed.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Noah ducks down to place a reassuring kiss on his shoulder.

“I just―I don’t know, it’s stupid,” he trails off, staring at the light filtering in through the flimsy hotel curtains.

“Nothing you say is stupid, come on, talk to me,” Noah insists, squeezing his arms a little tighter around Matt.

“We’ll always have this, right?” Matt’s voice sounds as young as Noah’s ever heard it, fragile and defenseless.

“What do you mean?”

“This. _Us_. We can do this, right?” He clarifies, and at once Noah understands Matt’s inference.

“Matt,” he begins softly, dropping his hand to curl around Matt’s tensed forearm. “I’m always going to be a phone call or facetime away,” he states reassuringly, running his hand over Matt’s arm. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re alone. And anyways, we’ve already done this before, remember?”

Matt sighs as he leans down to rest his head on top of Noah’s. “But it’ll be different; I’m not going to be in Ann Arbour,” he says solemnly. “Ace, I’m going to be on the other side of the continent.”

“I’m saying this right now, as long as you still want me, I’ll want this relationship, want _you_ ,” he affirms fiercely, intertwining their fingers loosely. “It’s all on you.”

“I can’t even think of being with anyone else,” Matt wrinkles his nose in distaste. “You’ve ruined me for everyone.”

“I can’t say I’m too upset over that development,” Noah says mirthfully as he noses along Matt’s throat slowly in the way he knows drives Matt crazy. He watches on in amusement as Matt’s hands begin to fidget, and he smirks, pressing a kiss into Matt’s pulse point, adoring the audible gasp his actions produce.

“Me neither,” Matt breathes out brokenly. “Especially when you’re so keen on celebrating my excellence,” he chirps impudently, but the illusion of cockiness is lost between his harsh pants.

“Your excellence?” Noah chuckles, “I think we’re forgetting who got drafted higher,” he quips back, smirking at Matt’s loud guffaw of laughter.

He’s still laughing as Noah playfully shoves him down onto the bed, smoothing Matt’s giggles with the weight of his body. Matt’s eyes are still shining with humour and affection as he looks up at Noah; and really, how could Matt ever have any doubt? Noah’s in this for as long as Matt will have him.

And then he raises an impatient eyebrow, and Noah takes it as his cue to move things along. “Happy draft day, baby,” Noah whispers with a smile as he leans down to close the distance between them.

 

\---

 

Noah can see Matt pulling away from his teammates, internalizing his grief in the same way Noah’s seen him do plenty of times.

At this point, the Noah that loved him would draw him out of his shell of despair with love, and reassurances. But the Noah who still unfortunately loves Matt doesn’t give a fuck.

Matt’s crying out for help; even if he doesn’t know it, yet his cries fall on deaf ears. Noah turns his back and walks away with his head held high.

 

\---

 

Noah picks up the unfortunately unblemished dahlia, scoffing angrily. After all this time, Matt thinks he can slip a fucking dahlia into his locker and everything will be okay? Not a fucking chance. It’s an action that used to make his heart race with zeal, but now makes it squeeze with dread.

He reaches out for the flower, pinching the delicate bloom without any care for preserving the petals as he once did. It’s his first day in the Calgary locker room, and Matt’s presence is already stifling. He wants to be optimistic in thinking he can handle being on the same team as Matt, but even being in the same city as Matt has his breath catching painfully in his throat.

Subconsciously lifting the dahlia to his nose, he allows himself two seconds to inhale it’s aroma, the flowery scent blistering his nostrils with the pain of remembrance. His are shut, clenched, and he realizes with a start that he can’t do this. It’s too soon, and Matt’s not going to let him go easily. He knows Matt, knows his tenacity. It’s how he got Noah in the first place.

Slipping the dahlia into his pocket among the disgust showing true in his thoughts, he turns to walk out of the locker room, halting when his eyes catch on his jersey across the room.

Tkachuk. #19.

It’s a jersey he’s worn before, many times in fact. And sometimes it was #7 on his back, or # 11. But the name worn across his shoulders was always the same, claiming exactly who exactly was his.

Noah’s tempted to walk over and run his fingers over the embroidered ‘Tkachuk’ on the jersey to feel if it’s any different from the jerseys he’s worn in the past. But he knows it won’t, that the same seven letters will always feel the same, the rough stitching around the letters he’s run his fingers over so many times that it’s practically muscle memory.

_Tkachuk._

It was a name he practically obsessed over, especially towards the later stages of their relationship, until eight months ago when Noah realized that there were others vying for his last name in the same way Noah was.

It was especially true when Noah marched into a jewelry store in Charlotte, armed with an empty wallet and a mind rich in visions of the future. A future that only contained Matt, and such an overwhelming happiness that his mouth was permanently stretched into a smile, even to the wary glances of the clerks.

 _Ah, to be young and in love_ , he thinks to himself bitterly, snapping out of his thoughts unsteadily. Still, knowing what he does, Noah would give just about anything to be back there, when it was him and Matt against the world. Back when it was so good that he could’ve never imagined it being torn down, especially in the way it did.

He doesn’t voice it aloud, yet his thought still cuts through his mangled heart with the efficiency of a dull knife. _He always liked who he was better when he was with Matthew._ And if that doesn’t feel like defeat, he doesn’t know what will. He gave Matt his heart, his soul, and it was thrown back at him without remorse.

So, maybe, it’s time to realize that this is Noah, now. No longer the smiling, composed defenceman that was attached at the hip to Matthew Tkachuk. Maybe now he’s the sarcastic, sometimes jaded, Calgary Flame that occasionally watches Gardener’s World when alone, or finds himself making enough food for two. And maybe he’s the person that still finds himself reaching for a warm body beside him in the middle of the night, only to be met with a coldness that freezes his heart from the inside out.

But it’s okay. Noah has to accept that’s who he is now. Because he’s a work in progress, someone who requires an abundance of self-love before he’s at peace with who he’s become. Glancing at Matt’s jersey one last time, he walks out of his new locker room and desperately looks somewhere, anywhere, other than the floor, which is starting to become blurry.

It’ll be okay. _He’ll_ be okay.

Eventually.

 

\---

 

Matt’s waiting for Noah in full gear outside of the locker room when he enters for morning practice. Noah smiles with blushed cheeks, reminiscing on the way Matt effectively kissed the life out of him the previous night against his billet’s house. To be completely truthful, his lips still tingle.

“Hey,” Noah begins, looking at Matt’s nervous expression curiously.

His cheeks are flushed as he thrusts a single flower at Noah. “Hey,” he murmurs with a smile, and Noah can’t help but grin back.

He gently takes the flower from Matt, attempting to contain his shiver when Matt’s fingers brush against the sensitive skin of his palm. Turning the unknown flower over in his palm, he smiles, looking back up at Matt. “What’s this?”

“It’s a dahlia,” Matt explains, gesturing down at the intense red of the petals. “It signifies commitment. I uh, googled it,” he continues with an awkward laugh, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Commitment,” Noah repeats with a soft smile. “Sweeping me off my feet, then?”

Matt laughs softly at getting called out. “Yeah, I’m—like―trying trying really hard. I thought you deserved flowers, because you looked really pretty today,” he states with a soft blush that sends Noah’s stomach fluttering.

“Pretty?” Noah questions with an unattractive snort, gesturing down to his underarmour-clad body and neon green crocs.

“Um, okay maybe I was thinking about last night when I bought you the flowers, but the point still stands,” he says as they share a laugh.

It’s unexpected, Matt buying him flowers; Noah genuinely didn’t predict him being that type of guy. Suffice to say, Noah’s pleasantly surprised, and more into Matt than ever. “Thanks Matty, I love it.”

The nearly unnoticeable tension in his features clears, and he’s breathing out a sigh of relief, as if there would be any alternative than Noah falling at his feet. “You do?” He confirms with a wide, joyous grin. “I mean, because some guys don’t like flowers, but I guess they’re cool or whatever--” Matt rambles before Noah cuts him off.

“Matt, seriously, I love it, okay? Don’t ever doubt yourself with me,” he says as he grazes Matt’s warm cheek with a kiss, straining at the height difference with Matt on his skates. “I love it,” he repeats softly into the shell of Matt’s ear.

“Good, that’s really...good,” Matt whispers back, sounding dazed. When Noah pulls back, his cheeks are still reddened, and he’s wearing a sort of bewildered smile that Matt’s never seen before. Unsurprisingly, he really, really likes it.

“So, um, I’ll see you out on the ice?” Noah says with a smile, nodding towards the dressing room, as he’s cutting it close to the beginning of practice.

“Oh, yeah for sure,” Matt stutters, waving with a soft smile as he walks out towards the tunnel.

Judging by the state of the dressing room, he really is cutting it close to the beginning of practice. The only stragglers remaining are some of the other vets, and Auston. Which is  unexpected, because the kid has an intricate warm-up, that usually begins at least twenty minutes before practice.

Which means he should be on the ice, not fucking around on his phone.

“Hey Aus, everything okay?” He calls out to the centre.

He looks up from his phone languidly and blinks for a moment. “Yeah man, I’m just texting my sister,” he says unhurriedly, waving his phone.

“Cool,” Noah nods before continuing over to his locker to begin gearing up.

When he blindly reaches up to drop his phone in the top compartment of his locker he freezes, feeling a mountain of softness underneath his fingers. Raising himself to his toes, he peeks at the contents of the locker, gasping when he sees it.

There’s a fucking bouquet of dahlias in his stall, and Noah can’t fucking breathe. He’s swarmed with such an unexpected burst of happiness that his jaw actually aches from how widely he’s smiling.

“Oh my god,” he breathes as he pulls out the bouquet, his fingers wrapping around a note.

_I want to shower you with flowers and love, if you’ll let me. Dinner, tonight?_

_-Matt xx_

He hears an audible click from his right, his head jerking up with a guaranteed manic smile as a result of the note.

“I’m just getting some shots for the wedding album,” Auston chirps monotonously by way of explanation, another click indicating an additional picture taken.

Regardless, Matt’s weird friends can’t dampen his happiness. He stares back down at the bouquet, hearing more clicks, but pays them no attention.

Because he knows, intrinsically, that this is going to be good. They’re going to be so _fucking_ good.

 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  **Warnings:**  
>   
>  _1\. Infidelity: Noah finds Matt cheating on him with someone else, and it's not pretty._  
>   
>  _2\. Mentions of Emotional Childhood abuse: Matt's dad would lock him in the basement to practice, no physical abuse mentioned. Matt also doesn't categorize it as abuse, when it really is._  
>   
>  _3\. Loss of Self: Noah's pretty messed up after the break-up, and has feelings of emotional detachment and loss of self without Matt._  
>   
>   
>  _4\. Underage: ages are a lil fuzzy in this one, but there are scenes when both Noah and Matt are underage, and scenes where only Matt is underage. The age difference is one year._  
>   
>  I think that does it, but please let me know if I'm missing anything! :) Hope you enjoyed!  
> 


End file.
